The week before Thanksgiving 2011, I grabbed the top of my mannequin and molded some cables around it. I pictured myself in a jaw-dropping neon orange sweater saying “this old thing? I made it myself.” Objectively, that isn’t a great reason to do anything. In my case, it set me up for disappointment.  

I was a 15-year-old freshly out of braces trying to be impressive and had never once looked at a sweater pattern, so I made a few strategic errors. First, I didn’t understand the difference between my measurements and a sweater’s finished measurements – hint from the present: a sweater should be bigger than what it covers. Then I made the choice to pair chunky yarn with size 4 needles. Two days before Thanksgiving and 5 skeins in, I was still toting around a tank top on a torso. That year I trudged through the woods of my great aunt’s property in giant hiking boots and another skin-tight bright orange sweater that I bought from The Limited, a failure.